


the in-between

by amfiguree



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amfiguree/pseuds/amfiguree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night, Cobb accidentally calls out Mal's name in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the in-between

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this kink meme prompt](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/11941.html?thread=25782437#t25782437) over on livejournal.

_after_ :  
  
arthur doesn't leave. they both know he's not wired for dramatics that way, not like--  
  
"goodnight," he says, quietly, and cobb's heart is a wild thing pounding at his ribcage, demanding a voice.  
  
"goodnight," cobb echoes finally, hoarsely, but arthur's already on his side, back to cobb, shoulders stiff against the sheets.  
  
but he doesn't leave.  
  
  
  
 _before_ :  
  
"cobb," arthur murmurs, breathlessly, against cobb's mouth. "dom. this isn't a good idea."  
  
cobb nips at the underside of arthur's jaw. "i want you to move in with me," he says, again, and feels arthur shudder beneath his hands.  
  
  
  
 _after_ :  
  
like everything else that's mattered before this, they don't talk about it.  
  
in the morning, cobb wakes to the smell of coffee wafting in from the kitchen.  
  
"morning," cobb says, when he pads his way over. arthur's leaning back against the kitchen counter, and cobb has to squint against the sunlight filtering through the open blinds behind him. the kids are at the table, midway through their breakfast. james is pulling faces and phil is laughing, and arthur doesn't look up from watching them when he says, "there's bacon in the pan and coffee in the machine if you want it."  
  
"thanks," cobb says, and clears his throat. "do you want to take them to school today or should i?"  
  
  
  
 _before_ :  
  
arthur's always up before cobb is, pottering around the kitchen and listening intently to whatever story james is telling over his meal of cornflakes or waffles or pancakes, absently helping phil figure out whether her blue or white shoes go better with the outfit they've picked for the day.  
  
something in cobb's chest _aches_ just watching it.  
  
"what would this family do without you?" he murmurs, too low for the kids to hear, as he ghosts a hand over arthur's elbow, presses a soft kiss to the back of arthur's neck.  
  
arthur laughs at that, clearly surprised, and ducks his head without an answer.  
  
  
  


  
_after:_

days pass, and despite it all, they're a well-oiled machine: things are so normal, so routine, that cobb almost forgets.

he doesn't realize that arthur's _trying_ to help him forget until later, when they're both in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, both kids already tucked in bed, sound asleep.

arthur's talking about a job offer eames just called with, "two days' work, maybe three," and cobb hums, absently reaching to brush a soap sud off arthur's cheek as he thinks it over--

he almost misses the way arthur flinches. it's gone before it really even surfaces, an instinctual recoil, a sour, pained twist to his mouth that he schools in so quickly cobb can't be quite sure he saw it.

it's the waver in arthur's voice that gives him away, the pause between, "ariadne's thinking about flying in to see us," and "the kids will be fine here."

cobb pulls his hand back, lets it hang by his side, fingers curled in a heavy, empty fist.

arthur keeps talking.

 

 

_before_ :

"you're impossible," cobb says, once, after he spends too long coaxing arthur into sharing a shower. it used to be a biweekly thing, a secret indulgence, his and--

"it's called self-preservation, dom," arthur says, laughingly, but he lets cobb corner him, lets cobb push him back against the wall, closes his eyes when the water starts to fall. "i already say yes more than i should."

 

 

_after_ :

the only difference now is that arthur starts staying up late, nodding goodnight at cobb from where he's perched on the sofa watching the discovery channel, the volume turned down low.

the only difference now is that he starts falling asleep there, too, more often than not, and cobb starts waking up to cool sheets and an empty bed.

 

 

_before_ :

arthur is good at compartmentalizing, and they both know it. hell, everyone in the field knows it. he's also good at details, and fine-tuning, and calculating margins of errors.

some days, cobb still wishes those things were all he knew of arthur.

some days, he wishes arthur didn't know about the things he wishes for.

 

 

_after_ :

he doesn't mean to pry.

james gets into arthur's bedside table, somehow, while they're both in the garden letting phil give them a lecture on flowers, and they only realize something's wrong when they hear james start to wail, long, gasping sobs that have them both tearing through the house, frantic.

they come back to a room full of chaos; arthur's things are in a mess on the floor, and james is holding a hand up, one finger bleeding. arthur ushers him outside to get him cleaned up, and cobb's left to deal with the fallout.

that's when he finds the journal.

the page is dated _02.13.10_ , the day before his anniversary, his and--

there's only one word above the date: _before_.

cobb flips the page involuntarily.

_02.14.10_ , and only one word scribbled beside it, then calmly canceled out. ~~after~~.

cobb keeps turning, like a dream he can't wake up from, finds the same word over, and over, and over, intervals of weeks between each new attempt, months, sometimes, and all of them crossed out. he gets to _2015_ , and there's a page from january ripped clean out of the book. cobb traces the jagged edges with a finger, makes an educated guess as to what he would have found.

a couple of pages later and he's staring down at _09.16.15_. it's not a date of any particular significance, shouldn't be, except for the small, neat, precise handwriting cobb can recognize almost as well as his own in the center of the page:

_you'll learn to live with knowing there's never going to be an after._  



End file.
